Archive for December, 2008

What a Christmas. I told you about that last week. Santa brought all four of our sons Indiana Jones hats. And two of the guys, Eric and Mark came to visit. We made what I would call a memorable sight walking into the diner together. My Lady Wonder Wench, and Ericâ€™s wife Brenda have other perspectives on it (there are simply some things that women donâ€™t seem to understand) but everybody had a lot of fun.

So now we have another new year. Another new beginning. I like new beginnings.Â Especially the small ones that only one or two other people share with you. Those small new beginnings are fragile. If youâ€™re not careful, they can get drowned out in the every day noise of your life. I think thatâ€™s one of the reasons we have dreams. Dreams come in the quiet of your sleepâ€¦and they are sometimes full of those images of half forgotton new beginnings.

Like your first kiss. I donâ€™t mean some loud sloppy thing your maiden aunt planted on you when you were two. I mean your first KISS. I got mine from Jeannie Cambell when she was six and I was seven. Good start. Jeannie was on to something. She didnâ€™t give me one of those little girl pecks on the cheek. It was a real smackeroooâ€¦right on the lips. It was a reward for teaching her which way the hat goes on â€œMr. 7.â€ She was just starting kindergarten, and I was a worldly first grader. I really liked that kiss. I followed up on it when I was 14, but thatâ€™s another story.

Who gave you your first kiss ? Who was your first girlfriend or boyfriend ? Mine was Mary Skillings who lived on the third floor across the street. Mary taught me a simple box step so I would be able to dance the slow dances with her at the record hops. That was nice.

How about when you have teenagers of your ownâ€¦and they all go somewhere at the same time leaving you and your lady all alone in the house ? Doesnâ€™t it make you feel like the first time your parents left you alone in the house with your date when you were the teenagers?

Some firsts you can have lots of timesâ€¦like the first sniff of a real Christmas treeâ€¦or the first whiff when you open a new container of coffeeâ€¦or when the lady next door is baking bread.

Then of course, thereâ€™s your first day at school. How was that ? Mine was full of the smell of chaulk and crayons, and trying to remember which door was my classroom. And how about the first day you bring your own kid to schoolâ€¦and have to leave her thereâ€¦all day? Not easy. But the real clincher first timeâ€¦is when you go to a parent/teacher meeting and you are the parent ! And the teacher is younger than you areâ€¦and calls you â€œMr. or Ms.â€

Iâ€™ll never forget the first beginnings of my work life. My first job was Saturdays in my Grandfatherâ€™s butcher shop. My Grandfather taught me what the word â€œworkâ€ really meansâ€¦and that was a help to me all my life. And how can you ever forget your first pay check. Mine was for $8.00. What was yours ?

I donâ€™t think girls have the same first time experiences as guys. I remember winning my first fight. It was at the beach at Coney Island in Brooklynâ€¦I was around six years old, and some older guyâ€¦he was probably at least eightâ€¦stepped on my sand castle on purpose. I jumped on him and bent his little finger back till he howled for his mommy. I loved it.

Then there was the first time I walked into a major league ball parkâ€¦up a bunch of stairsâ€¦down a long corridorâ€¦and whamâ€¦ there was Yankee Stadium. And Mickey Mantle. Back home in Brooklyn, I remember hitting my first stick ball home run against Eddy Kelly. Eddy was the Carl Erskine of 61st Street. He wound up and threw the ball and I closed my eyes and swungâ€¦and socked it. What a thrill.

And breathes there a guy whoâ€™s so cold and dead that he doesnâ€™t remember driving his own car for the first time ? I bought mine from that same Eddy Kelly a few years after my home run heroics. It may have been Eddieâ€™s revenge. It could doâ€¦topsâ€¦ about 30 miles an hourâ€¦down hillâ€¦with a good tail wind. But it was MINE !

Iâ€™m a pilot, and no pilot ever forgets the first time the instructor pilot gets out of the plane and says, â€œTake her around the pattern three times, and try to bring her back in one piece.â€ And suddenly you are flying an airplane all by yourself. I loved it.

I have all kinds of first times that most people donâ€™t have. For example, I remember the first time I could wiggle one ear at a time. My Dad could do that, and Iâ€™d been trying forever. Then one dayâ€¦it just happened. And I remember the first time I was able to get the milk and the cereal to come out even in my breakfast bowl. Now itâ€™s a challenge I face every morning at breakfastâ€¦seeing to it that the last scoop of milk has at least one piece of cereal in it. And Iâ€™ll never forget my first time on the air at WNEW Radio in New York.

Those of you who are non-guys will probably have about the same reaction as my Lady Wonder Wench has to that kind of stuff. Â There are just some things women donâ€™t understand. But if you are Lady Wonder Wench material, youâ€™ll have a good enough sense of humor, and enough flat out loveâ€¦to just smile and say, â€œGood for you. Iâ€™m proud of you. Iâ€™ll bet Randy next door canâ€™t do thatâ€â€¦and pump your fist up and down.

On this weekâ€™s podcast, I had another first time. For the first time in years, I sat down at my keyboard to play Auld Lang Syne. I donâ€™t know the literal translation of Auld Lang Syne. But to me it always meant, â€œHey, we made it through another another year together. It wasnâ€™t always easy. But we made it. We tried lots of things that didnâ€™t work, and a few things that did. The important thing is that we tried. And we helped each other the best we could. Thatâ€™s all you can doâ€¦give your bestâ€¦to each other.â€

A couple of voices that sang Auld Lang Syne with us last year are missing this time. That puts a painful hole in the harmony. But itâ€™s worth the pain, because it was so good for so long having them singing along. And we know that after a whileâ€¦the pain wonâ€™t go awayâ€¦but weâ€™ll get used to itâ€¦and it will be ok. Weâ€™ll help each other with that too.

I almost lost my Lady Wonder Wench when she had that horseback accident last summer. I want to say, â€œThank God sheâ€™s still with me.â€ But to be honest, Iâ€™d thank God a lot more if he hadnâ€™t let that accident happen to her. Sheâ€™ probably the only person I know who has neverâ€¦as far as I knowâ€¦neverâ€¦hurt anybody on purposeâ€¦and I thought God was all loving. Never mind. Iâ€™ll just say â€œThank Godâ€ anyway. I donâ€™t need more trouble.

The important thing is that she still giggles when I wiggle one ear at a time, and she still pumps her fist and says â€œcongratulationsâ€ when I finish my cereal and milk together with the last spoonful. Sheâ€™s never going to ride her horse again, but sheâ€™s driving her car again.

And the other nightâ€¦there was another first time beginning. For the first time since the accident, she was able to climb up on the wing and sit in the right seat of our little airplaneâ€¦looking like a pretty little girlâ€¦and put on those big co-pilot headphones and go flying with me.

So… the surprise I promised you is right there in this weekâ€™s podcast. My Lady Wonder Wenchâ€¦able to stand right there at the microphoneâ€¦and right out loudâ€¦wish you a Happy New Year.

Itâ€™s a genuine new start. And I always liked new starts. May this year be gentler on all of us than the one we just endured.

Happy New Year.

Dick Summer

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“The Christmas cards have all been sent…” I like Karen Carpenterâ€™s voice in that very gentle Christmas song. Thereâ€™s something very important about the yearly Christmas card ritual. It makes us sit down and think about people who were…and are…important to us…at least long enough to address an envelope and sign a card. And youâ€™ve GOT to personally sign the card. Thatâ€™s a small enough effort to make to give something of yourself to somebody you care about. Itâ€™s like wrapping a Christmas gift. Even if you do it badly…just doing it says something important. My Lady Wonder Wench was badly injured this past summer. Sheâ€™s recovering…slowly…every day. And I watched her…painfully wrapping presents this year. Sheâ€™s just learning to use her left hand again. I hope the people who get those presents will understand how much of herself she had to give to get that job done.

My buddy Dick Stadlen takes great pride in wrapping Christmas presents. He does it enthusiastically if not very well. He claims “You canâ€™t be a cynic while you wrap pretty paper around a box, just so somebody else can tear it off just a little while later.” His lady Diane doesnâ€™t give him a hard time about it…because she loves him….even though the results of his wrapping often look like green and red spitballs. Dick says, “If there had been wrapping paper on the first Christmas, The Gospel would have said…â€™and lo the Magiâ€™s gifts were inside 600 square cubits of paper. And the paper was festooned with pictures of Frosty the Snowman. And Joseph was going to throw it away. But Mary sayeth unto him…holdeth it…thatâ€™s nice paper…saveth it for next year ! And Joseph did rolleth his eyeballs.Â And the baby Jesus was far more interested in the paper than in the frankincense.”

Before you put your Christmas cards away…take a moment to send one more. Hereâ€™s the address:

A Recovering American Soldier

c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center

6900 Georgia Avenue, N.W.

Washington, D.C. 20307.

Actually, that would be a good address to keep long past the holidays. It wouldnâ€™t hurt to send a note, or some goodies, or a letter doused in cheap perfume with lots of lipstick kisses on it once a month or so. If you do go the cheap perfume route however, I think Iâ€™d address it to a Male Recovering Solider.

Santa is lots of things to lots of people. But he pretty often gets a bum rap. He gets the blame for all the tasteless, crass, loud tv commercials for “The Biggest Sale Of The Year.” He also has to take the fall for “Taking Christ out of Christmas.” I think he deserves better. I think itâ€™s time to thank Santa, because that stuff is not his fault.

Santa is a connector. Every year…no matter how old you are…he connects you to who you were when you got your first electric trains… a sled…or a bike under the tree…or your first Christmas kiss. And most important, heâ€™s the connection to that distinct Christmas Eve “tuck you – in – so – Santa – can – come – with – his – reindeer – and – presents” feeling that your parents gave you. It was so safe…and happy…and real. And Santa helps you pass all that along to your kids…every Silent Night.

Of course, “He knows when youâ€™ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.” Not a bad reminder for us “Louie-Louie Generation” folks. Sometimes we slip…and a reminder at Christmas is very much in order. “You better not pout, you better not cry…” yeah…we do too much whining and not enough smiling the rest of the year. Christmas is a good time to turn that around too.

My Lady and I went for our traditional Christmas flight in our little airplane the other night. We have a little four seat airplane that flies low and slow. Most of our friends think we go out looking for Santa Claus. But thatâ€™s not what we do. I guess you could say weâ€™re looking for Christmas Gold. And we always seem to find it.

Our little airport is a few miles west of Philly. As usual on a cold, clear, pretty close to Christmas night, when my Lady and I got there, it was dark and deserted, except for the white runway lights and the blue taxi way lights, the spotlight on the wind sock, and theÂ revolving beacon. We strapped ourselves in…fired up the engine…and climbed up into the black and white magic midnight. If you heard a small plane engine late the other night, and looked up…and saw small wingtip lights playing in the stars, that might have been us. Moonlight was shining into the cockpit…the cityâ€™s Christmas lights sliding under our wings.

Those city lights were Santa Claus bright. You could almost hear the hustling and the ho-ho-ho-ing from all the crowds, and the music and the parties going on down there. But thatâ€™s not what we were looking for.

So we turned out over the suburbs…the lights get gentler out in the neighborhoods. Instead of the city hustle and bustle…the Santa Claus jingle bell sounds…you get houses carefully decorated with Christmas lights…and thereâ€™s the feeling of carols playing softly on stereos, and fancy paper wrapping around personal presents…and cups of hot chocolate with cold whipped cream…and kids trying to pretend theyâ€™re really asleep.

Then, a little farther out…we floated over some farms…mostly Amish…no electricity…real candles in the windows…and a few horse drawn wagons. We could see a few lanterns swinging from side to side on the dark roads. It was like flying slowly backward into time. It was quiet. So quiet.

My Lady was sitting in the right seat, looking like a lovely little girl, wearing those big co-pilot headphones in the moonlit cockpit. She started to smile…and then she started to cry. And thatâ€™s when she did it. Again. She said, “Thank you for this. I love you.”

And as quietly as the sound of Ancient Angels, the black and white midnight turned into…Christmas Gold.

Wanna know why Herald Angels get all the attention and we donâ€™t get any? Itâ€™s the word HARK! That word gets your attention. I like attention. Thatâ€™s why I spent so many years on the radio, I guess. The attentionâ€¦ and the girls. Â

I even met the girl who is now my Lady Wonder Wench because I was on the radio. She was in charge of the program log at the station I worked at in Boston.I used to screw up the log on purpose because I knew sheâ€™d have to come into the studio and throw me one of those â€œWhat IS the matter with you?â€ kind of looks, with those big baby blues turned up to stun. Then sheâ€™d look down at the log book and hide behind a curtain of that long, soft brown hair, and fix the mess Iâ€™d made. I actually caught her sneaking a look at me sneaking a look at her, one day. She thought I couldnâ€™t see her behind that hair.

If I were a little faster in the head, I would have said, â€œHARK !â€ But some naturally occurring chemicals originating in places somewhat lower than my head always seemed to hinder my thinking when she was around.But, as usual, I digress. â€œHowâ€ you will ask, â€œcan I work the word HARK into my everyday conversation, thereby becoming more Herald Angelic?â€ Well, have you ever noticed that when most of us are asked a question, we almost always start our answer with the word â€œWELLâ€? Even people on tv do it, as inâ€¦ (Host) â€œWell, whatâ€™s the weather going to be like tomorrow, Al?â€ (Al) â€œWellâ€¦.probably nice if it doesnâ€™t snow or rain.â€ Even our leaders talk that way. (Vice President) â€œWell, what are you going to do today, George?â€ (President) â€œWell, Dick, mmmmâ€¦ letâ€™s check out those Iraqi oil wells.â€You even hear it in hospitals, where nobody is really well. My buddy Al had a serious operation the other day. Fortunately, it was successful. We know that because when we asked the doctor, he said, â€œWell, heâ€™s going to get well.â€ Swell.

So, as Big Louie his own bad self, always tells the members of the â€œLouie-Louie Generationâ€â€¦ â€œSay the hell with wellâ€¦ light a sparkâ€¦ with â€˜hark.â€™ â€

Think what the word â€œharkâ€ did for Jamie Lee Curtisâ€™ father Tonyâ€¦ when he played the part of an arab sheik, and he uttered that unforgettable lineâ€¦ â€œHaawwk. Yonda lies da castle ov my fadda.â€ Were it not for that Brooklyn translation of the word Hark, Tony would be totally forgotten. And think how absolutely classy Rocky Balboa would have sounded saying â€œHarkâ€ instead of â€œYo.â€

â€œHarkâ€ is one of the reasons the herald angels got away with rhyming â€œProclaimâ€ with â€œBethle-haim.â€ When you start a statement with HARK, you can say anything you like after it. Try it. â€œHark, Iâ€™d like a raise.â€ â€œHark, I found lipstick on your collar.â€ â€œHark, Iâ€™m pregnant.â€ â€œHark, I got fired.â€

Saying â€œHarkâ€ gets you attention. Of course, youâ€™ll also get some attention when the weather outside is frightful, by going around dressed in your gay apparel, telling one and all, â€œfa-la-la-la-la.â€ Another way to get attention is to feed your guests roasted chestnuts. Have you ever tasted those things? Yeeech. Going for a ride in a one horse open sleigh on US-95 will do it too.

But HARKâ€¦maybe itâ€™s because Iâ€™m an ex radio guy, but as much as I hate to keep harping on itâ€¦and as much as I wish them wellâ€¦I see no reason at all why the Herald Angels should get all the attentionâ€¦and the girls.

1- What will my Lady Wonder Wench and I be looking for while flying in our little airplane this week?

2- What did Father Oâ€™Connell give all the good little boys and girls in my grammar school? (â€Harkâ€¦He must have skipped youâ€ is not the answer.)

3- What was my Momâ€™s last Christmas gift?

Scoring:

3 – right – Hark !

2 – right – Wellâ€¦

1 – right – Yo !

0 – right – ahhhhhâ€¦.

Lots of mail about Christmas this week. Thank you for everyone who wrote. Proud PodCast Participant Lisa has a wonderful project going to help our troops on active duty. Sheâ€™ll be glad to explain. Her email isÂ kentuckystorms@newwavecomm.net Â . Lisa is a good lady.

Â Iâ€™d like to hear from everybodyâ€¦your memoriesâ€¦the things you â€œwish you could do againâ€ in this season. My e-mail is Dick@DickSummer.com

Whooopsâ€¦HARKâ€¦I must include some of the wit of the season from Proud PodCast Participant Jim King:

What is Santaâ€™s primary language? North Polish.
Where does Santa go swimming? The North Pool.
If Santa rode a motorcycle, what kind would it be? A Holly Davidson
What is Santaâ€™s favorite breakfast cereal? Frosted Flakes.
How do Santa and Mrs. Claus get around? On an icicle built for two.

Thereâ€™s Christmas music all over the radio again this year. The Eagleâ€™s “Please come home for Christmas” is the fifth most played Christmas song on the radio this year. Number four is Andy Williams “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” “Feliz Navidad” by Jose Feliciano comes in at number three. Nat Coleâ€™s “Christmas Song” is number two. And The most played Christmas song this year is Burl Ivesâ€™ “Holly Jolly Christmas.”All those artists had lots of hits in their careers. But the most popular Christmas song of all time was a one hit wonder. Lots of artists had one hit wonders. Gene Chandler who legally changed his name to “The Duke of Earl” never had another hit. And how about the Singing Nun? What a disappointment she must have had. She left the convent to pursue a singing career, and she never had another hit. And donâ€™t forget the lawyer by the name of Frank Key. He couldnâ€™t sleep one night, so he stayed up and composed his one big hit…the Star Spangled Banner. Then there were Mildred and Patti Hill…a couple of kindergarten teachers, who wrote the third most performed song ever composed in the English language…”Happy Birthday to You.”

The most popular Christmas song of all time is so beautiful, that for a long time lots of experts thought it must have been written by Beethoven. But they were wrong. Other experts said, “No it was Brahms.” Some said “Mozart…of course it was Mozart.” Wrong again Fruitcake Breath.

Christmasâ€™s biggest hit was written on Christmas Eve 1816, in Oberndorf, Austria. Father Joseph Mohr wrote a poem that he wanted set to music for midnight mass. The church organist, Franz Gruber, said, “Ok.” He did a very simple arrangement, because the church organ wasnâ€™t working, and the song would have only a single guitar for accompaniment. Franz and Josef sang the song together that night. Can you imagine…you write only one song in your life…and itâ€™s “Silent Night.”

My Dad was a church organist in Brooklyn, New York. So I know what a big deal midnight mass is for guys like Herr Gruber. Dad had a huge choir…around 40 men, 50 women, and God knows how many kids. It was a big church…itâ€™s a Basilica now. And right after Thanksgiving every year, Dad would double choir practices. And most of all, he would go to the dark church at night, and practice on the big five keyboard organ with the 32 foot tall pipes. Some nights heâ€™d take me with him. I was just a little kid. We had to use flashlights to find the stairs because the church was dark, except for the candle thatâ€™s always kept burning by the altar.

It was cold too. Mom knit him a big black wool sweater to keep him warm when he practiced. He always finished his practice by playing Bachâ€™s Toccata and Fugue. You probably know it. It features one of the lowest notes on the organ pedals, played at church rattling volume. Dad would look over at me just before he hit that note, and his little mustache would twitch. I think I enjoyed that more than a visit from St. Nick.

Dadâ€™s musical talent skipped me. But three of our sons got their share. Our son Eric plays bass, guitar and sax professionally…our son Mark plays and teaches guitar and keyboards. And our son Dave has a degree in music as well as in computers. Dave plays everything. Well. He does a family Christmas album every year. He gave me the ok to post one of the cuts on the album in the current podcast.

I love Christmas. Iâ€™m not religious at all, but I really love Christmas. And I love Santa. Santa is the connector. But he gets a bum rap. He gets the blame for all the tasteless, crass, loud commercials for “the Biggest Sale of The Year.” He also has to take the fall for “Taking Christ out of Christmas.” And he deserves better.

Santa is the connector with who you were when you got your brand new electric trains…your first Christmas kiss…a sled…or a bike under the tree. And most important, Santa is the connector with the distinct and absolutely personal “tuck-you-in-so-Santa-can-come-with-his-reindeer-and-presents” feeling you remember from your Mom or Dad. And you can remember that so clearly…even if your Mom and Dad are only memories now. And Santa helps you pass all that feeling along to your kids…that absolutely safe and excited Santa feeling you had so long ago, every Silent Night.

“He sees you when youâ€™re sleeping…he knows when youâ€™re awake.” That means Santa is around all the time…and heâ€™s paying attention to you. My Lady Wonder Wench says “Women have to talk twice as much as men, because men donâ€™t pay attention the first time.” And sheâ€™s probably right. But Santa is there…all Christmas season…paying attention…day and night.

Thank you Santa.

Proud Podcast Participant Pastor Mike, as usual puts it as well as anything can be put. He says, ” I think the problem religious people and secular folks have over Christmas is that they donâ€™t realize there are really 2 different celebrations going on at the same time. There is the celebration of the birth of Jesus, and the joys and miracles of that wondrous night. But over the years, the story became ritualized, and made solemn; and it became a believe it or else scenario. The wonder, the joy, the significance of the gift weâ€™d been given were lost. And people missed that. So they found other ways of expressing the joy the ritual had taken away in Christmas trees, and Santa, and Rudolph, and Frosty…and most of all in the giving of gifts, to honor the Greatest Gift. Religious people of course hated this. “Theyâ€™re not real” they said. No, theyâ€™re not. But the truths they represent are. The generosity of Santa. The loyalty and courage of Rudolph. The magic and happiness of Frosty…those things are real. And we should bless them.”

Pastor Mike is my kind of Pastor.

Some people donâ€™t believe in Santa Claus. Theyâ€™ll tell you Christ was born in the spring, not on December 25. And theyâ€™re right. But the truth is, I really donâ€™t care when Christ was born. I donâ€™t even care if He was the “Son of God.” He gave us lots of good ideas, and lots of love. And I figure that even if you donâ€™t believe in Christ at all, you have to admit that his birthday celebration is a blast. So is Hanukkah, Quanza, Solstice, and any other holiday that involves candles, music, getting people close together, some laughs that your really need, and a few tears you canâ€™t help, good stuff to eat, and most important…some great loving.